


Duality

by vino_and_doggos



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bisexual!Roy, Character Study, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Lots of Romantic and Sexual Tension, M/M, Pre-Canon, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vino_and_doggos/pseuds/vino_and_doggos
Summary: Roy Mustang is a young man, dealing with his burgeoning sexuality, a difficult alchemy teacher and his hard-set daughter, and a good-looking cadet that also likes quiche.





	1. The Bar, the Boy, the Birds, and the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I've been sitting on this one for a while. Nothing like projecting onto your favorite character, yeah? I have no clue how long this monster is going to be, so let me apologize in advance for that. But I am really excited to finally be sharing this with you all <3
> 
> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPC_MPDG). She truly is a joy to work with, and really whipped this fic into shape from the beginning. I credit her for my growth as a writer, and I really value her input - almost as much as her friendship.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Explicit explanations of gay sex. It's awkward for Roy, and it will probably be awkward for you, too.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nothing in Chris Mustang’s life ever happened predictably, and that suited her just fine. Most people finished school, got a job, found their soulmate, got married, had kids, lived happily ever after, and died still married to their first love.

Women had their own set of rules. “Speak only when spoken to. No cussing. And for God’s sake, Christine, keep your legs together unless some gentleman makes an honest woman out of you!” And, once an “honest woman” was made, she was expected to spend her days barefoot and pregnant, chained to a kitchen.

Chris realized early on that was not something that she wanted. Love? Sure. Wifely duties? Not so much. She didn’t want any part of bearing children. Cooking was not her forte. And Chris absolutely loved a good pair of shoes.

Chris thought she found the love of her life when she was fourteen. She dropped out of school to follow him around the world and was disowned by her parents in the process. But after her lover got what he wanted from her, the jerk tossed her aside faster than last year’s model of automail in Rush Valley.

However, Chris was not one to stay down. Picking herself up by her bootstraps, she made her way in the world by taking up a tried and true profession. Chris earned every cenz of her keep between the sheets of a brothel bed, lowering herself to an extreme that flustered the well-bred ladies of her family’s social circle. Better that than crawling back to her parents.

The Amestrian dream of love, children, and white picket fences seemed unattainable in this line of work; so she set her sights on something different. The young prostitute truly enjoyed what she did - not necessarily the sex, although that could be pleasurable, depending on the client. Rather, the espionage, the secrets she learned from her customers - that was what she truly preferred in her career.

Plus, leaving a man gasping for air through waves of ecstasy held a certain power. Chris liked that power. Knowing that she was good at what she did, knowing that she could learn the secrets that she could learn, and getting a bit of pleasure for herself on the side left her feeling more freedom than she had ever experienced under the iron fist of her father and the prim, proper, punctuality of her mother.

After a number of years, Chris saved enough money to purchase the bar and brothel from the ailing owner. She was, of course, the best at what she did, and the transition from prostitute to Madam was seamless.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a phone call. A phone call about her brother. A phone call about her now-dead brother. And his surviving child.

Madam Christmas, as she was now known, suddenly had a five-year-old boy. She had no clue that her parents had died, not that she cared. Her brother had reached out a few times over the years, informing her of his marriage and, later, of his son, her nephew.

But to keep Philip and his family’s reputation as clean as possible, she never returned his correspondence. It wasn’t right that Philip, as well as the sister-in-law and the nephew that she had never met, should be punished by society for her sins. Not getting to know her nephew was tough, and looking at the grainy photograph that her brother sent a few years ago made Chris regret her line of work for the first time.

Philip probably assumed Chris rejected him, just as their parents had done to her. Likewise, he hadn’t even bothered to tell Chris that their parents had passed on. Hopefully, he didn’t mind that she was his only living relative to take in his son.

She learned a lot about her nephew - Roy - and about being a parent very quickly. The boy was kind of like her in some ways: a bit different than his peers, an outsider. However, he was much more intelligent than Chris could ever claim to be. He was sharp as a tack, always questioning the world around him, always wanting to learn more.

Chris never intended to be a mother, and with her connections, it wouldn't have been hard to hide the boy away. She knew bars and brothels, especially hers with its seedy history and paper thin walls, were no place to bring up children. But Roy was different in the way he looked, thought, and acted. Those beautiful almond eyes, dark like Phillip's, but with the pleasant hints of his mother's Xingese gentility, bore right into Chris' heart. There was no doubt about it. She and Roy were cut from the same cloth. And besides that, Chris’s parents disowned her, not the other way around. In her mind, family was family.

Roy became close with her girls, charming them with his smirkish smile almost immediately. The girls would pretend to swoon over him, all the while Chris’s smirk was nearly identical to Roy’s as she watched them interact.

Roy figured out around age 7 what the “bar” really was, and what his “sisters” really did. When he confronted Chris about it, she didn’t deny it - he was going to find out eventually, anyway. Shockingly, Roy didn’t recoil as she confirmed his suspicions; it just made him all the more protective of the girls as he grew.

As the years progressed, and the Madam and Roy lived together, they learned even more about one another. Chris didn’t quite realize what she was getting into when she got the phone call that her brother had died and she accepted Roy into her home, but she certainly wasn’t expecting a feisty child that would go after anyone who he thought treated any of the girls wrong.

Maybe she just wasn’t used to young boys? No, that wasn’t it. She remembered her brother being young and overprotective, too - that must be where Roy got his plucky nature from.

Roy was a good kid. A bright child. When he was young, he quickly learned math and was able to produce change from the till before even attending primary school. As he grew older, he held intelligent conversations about contemporary politics with the men that frequented the bar. He read classic novels that Madam Christmas hadn’t been able to finish. And yet, he still wasn’t applying himself in school. _Poor kid must be bored,_ she thought to herself, and that’s when the metaphorical light bulb flickered into existence. _I need to find him a tutor._

Mere weeks later, Madam Christmas saddled Roy with one of the finest tutors in Central City. To her delight, he excelled. Chemistry seemed to be the boy’s strong suit, and soon, he was able to rattle off numerous chemical compositions.

At the suggestion of his tutor, Roy picked up a few basic alchemy books to see if he had an affinity for the subject. And he did. The mischief-maker started to transmute things left and right, leaving alchemical scores in the tables, chairs, walls, and floors. To be honest, Roy’s new hobby grated on Chris’s nerves, but if it made the boy happy, she would gladly bear it.

Madam always wanted better for the girls that she took in. But this was the first time that she really thought about Roy and his future. She always assumed that Roy would grow up here, continue to work in the bar, maybe get an office job when he was old enough. Now, she was starting to reconsider.

_Honestly,_ she thought, _I should see if I can find him an actual alchemy teacher. Maybe see if he can apprentice under someone._

Chris wasn’t exactly overjoyed thinking about sending Roy away to learn. Despite the fact that Roy had been with her for quite a few years now, she felt like he just got there, only to be carted off to someone somewhere else. But at the same time, there was only so much that small-time tutors could teach him. He needed more.

She pondered this for many nights, until she realized that sending him away wouldn’t mean that he wasn’t hers any longer or that he wouldn’t have a home to come back to. Sending him away to learn more about alchemy would only open doors for him as he got older.

Chris knew a few people who had to know of someone looking for an alchemy apprentice. Sitting down to write some letters, she hoped she was making the right choice. _He can always decide that he doesn’t want to go,_ she rationalized. Roy seemed to truly have an affinity for the science, and who was she to deny him this possibility?

As gruff and as surly as Madam Christmas appeared on the outside, on the inside was a woman who was as fond of her Roy-Boy as she was protective.

One evening, shortly after Roy turned 13, a young man came into the establishment that the Mustangs called home. He looked so young, but Chris knew that the doorman wouldn’t have let him in without proper ID. _Must have just turned 18_ , she thought with a slight frown. And that’s when she saw it. The Look. That glazed-over, jaw hanging open, a-bomb-could-go-off-and-they-wouldn’t-even-notice-it kind of look. But not from any of her girls.

No… This look belonged to none other than Roy Mustang.

Eyeballing the customer up and down, she took in his appearance. He was slender, maybe a little lanky, with dark, slicked-back hair and light blue eyes. A very striking combination. He dressed sharply, too - slim cut dress slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a vest that was obviously tailored to fit him. The striking customer shed his jacket and carefully folded it over his left arm. Chris chuckled out loud and murmured to herself, “Well, at least the boy has good taste.”

She watched as Roy made his way over to the young man under the pretense of serving him. Roy rarely actually worked in the bar. He usually milled around, pestering the girls, who were never really bothered by him being there, and talking to the customers, who could never really be bothered with his presence. The fact that he was approaching the table before any of Madam’s girls were was… fascinating.

“H-hi! Would you like something to drink?” Roy stammered, a nervous energy radiating from him.

“Hi, yourself,” the gentleman smiled back. “Thank you, yes; two fingers of whiskey on the rocks?”

“Sure thing! I’ll be right back!” he said quickly and eagerly, ready to please. Chris saw his fast pace stutter as he made it about halfway back to the bar. _He has no clue what two fingers of whiskey means,_ she realized, stifling a laugh.

Roy approached the bartender, one of his older sisters named Anna, and in quiet whispers managed to ask what exactly this customer was requesting from the bar. Subtlety, Chris noticed, Anna told him what bottle to grab, how much ice to place in the glass, and then when to stop pouring from the bottle. She took note that Anna allowed Roy to do all of this himself. And probably a good thing, too - the young customer hadn’t taken his eyes off of Roy.

As the man took a seat at a booth in the corner, his eyes continued to follow Roy scuttling around behind the bar. _The boy’s not for sale, and you best not try anything if you want to keep all parts of yourself intact,_ Chris snarled as she thought to herself. Keeping an eye on her nephew became her new task for the evening. After a few drinks and a goodbye nod in Roy’s direction, the young man stood up and exited the bar, never inquiring about the extra services provided in the upstairs rooms.

On his way out the door, Chris caught his eye, looked meaningfully at Roy, and shot him a look. He had the sense to look scared as he slowly backed out of the bar, breaking eye contact with Chris only when the door swung shut.

For the next few nights, Roy’s eyes would snap to the door every time someone would walk in. He was disappointed more than a few times over, but eventually, a few weeks later, the man returned. And kept coming back.

Over the next year or so, Chris found that William was his name and that he had moved to Central for work. William didn’t know that Madam Christmas’ establishment was anything more than a bar at first, and he struggled with the idea of coming back after his initial visit.

Nevertheless, as William told the story, nobody quite provided the drinks like Christmas did, always with a quick wink in Roy’s direction. _That could be taken innocently_ , mused Chris - until she looked at Roy, that is. With stars in his eyes, he looked back at William, a faint flush dusting his cheeks.

Internally, Chris groaned. _And so it begins. I thought I had a few more years of peace… I should have known better._

One night, Roy was so enamored by William that he knocked over an entire bottle of fine red wine. The alcohol wasn’t that big of a loss, if Chris was being honest with herself. However, the customer that Roy spilled the majority it on… well, he probably wasn’t coming back. And that was truly unfortunate, since he was typically the one _spilling_ something after a few drinks.

Chris called Roy into her private office the following morning. They needed to talk.

“Yes, Aunt Chris?” Always Aunt Chris in private. Always Madam Christmas in public.

“Have a seat, Roy-Boy,” Chris said, motioning to the overstuffed armchair in front of the fireplace. Roy sat down with a slight air of nerves. Chris realized that he probably thought that this was about him spilling the wine. _I am definitely going to remember this for years,_ she thought, a small smile playing on her face.

“So,” she began, “you’re attracted to men.”

Roy’s face exploded into no less than ten different shades of red, and he began spluttering. “That’s - what - how - I - I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he blustered.

_Oh yes_ , thought Chris. _For years_.

Chris leveled her eyes at him and stated flatly, “I’m not blind, kid. I’ve been in this business a long time. I know what attraction looks like.”

Roy’s head dropped as he looked at the floor in front of him. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked quietly.

“What?” Suddenly Chris wasn’t thinking about laughing any more. This wasn’t something she thought he would ask.

He took a deep breath, looked back up at her, and squared his jaw. “I said, what are you going to do with me?”

“‘Do with you’?” Chris repeated. “I’m not gonna do anything ‘with’ you, kid! I just want to know you’re safe!”

The look on Roy’s face was pure confusion. Homosexuality was by no means illegal, but it wasn’t exactly smiled upon, either. Many families chose to send their “afflicted” family members away. The Madam had always scoffed at that idea - family was family. Chris Mustang was a lot of things. A sex worker, a bar maid, a brothel mother, and now a foster mother to her nephew. One thing she wasn’t, though, was discriminatory.

“Listen, Roy. I don’t care who or what you’re attracted to. I’ve employed men here before, too, but you probably don’t remember, since you were pretty young when the last one left. Sex between men is fine, if that’s what you’re in to. However, sex between men is something that isn’t as easy as that birds and the bees stuff I told you about before. Things are different.”

Roy scoffed, “Well, obviously,” and rolled his eyes.

_Such a damn teenager_ , Chris thought to herself. “Alright then, smarty-pants, do you want to explain the mechanics of gay sex to me?”

Any color that was in Roy’s face drained. “Well… you just… there’s no vaginal canal… so there’s not any… penetration…” he said haltingly. Chris shook her head.

“I’m not sure whether to be thankful that you haven’t actually done anything or disappointed that you haven’t figured it out on your own yet. I’m going to choose to believe the first one. In the meantime, though, I think you better let me take the reins on this talk, kid. First thing, yes, there can be penetration. However, the anus doesn’t make its own lubricant like the female body does.”

“The _what_?” Roy weakly uttered.

“You heard me, boy. Anus. A-N-U-S. No lube. If you’re planning on having penetrative sex, always make sure you have some. If you don’t have conventional lubricant, something like olive oil would work. Do you remember what I told you about why foreplay is important with women?”

Despite the somewhat embarrassing subject matter, some color returned to Roy’s face. He always was one hell of a learner, and Chris was glad to see that at least something from her previous talk was still rattling around in his head. “It’s important because it loosens a woman’s muscles and helps the body prepare for sex,” his surprisingly steady voice answered.

“Correct. Foreplay is important for men, too, but in a slightly different way. That part of anatomy doesn’t relax on it’s own like a woman’s does with sexual stimulation. It has to be done manually. Usually, it’s done with a lot of lube and some fingers.” At this, Chris grinned wickedly. She brought her hands up to Roy’s eye level and made a skillful scissoring motion with her first and second fingers. Roy looked absolutely mortified. “Make sure that you or the person you’re with has been prepared well so that it’s not painful.”

“ _Painful_?” Roy all but yelped.

“Yes, painful. If you listen to me and do it right, though, it should just be uncomfortable at first.”

Roy nodded shakily. “What else do I need to know?”

“Not too much, kid. Hands and mouths are still useful - yes, even there,” she added at Roy’s slightly perturbed expression. “But most importantly, have some fun with it. Enjoy yourself. That’s the most important part of having sex! God knows that’s the reason why this place has stayed in business over the years. But -” she cautioned, “just because I’m giving you this talk in no way, shape, or form condones you having sex. You’re still only fourteen. Don’t rush into something you’re not ready for because you think you know how. I wanted to make sure you knew what could be coming _just in case_.”

The boy in front of her let out a breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now since I have you here… While you were batting your eyelashes at your boy toy last night, one of my colleagues was here and asked to meet with me.” Chris truly believed that watching Roy’s face turn pink would never get old. “He mentioned that some relative of his is a halfway famous alchemist - for a small town, anyway. He’s had a few apprentices over the years, but none have lived up to his expectations. My colleague remembered you studying that gigantic alchemy textbook the last time he was here.”

She noted Roy’s thoughtful expression as he put the pieces together. “What do you say, kid? Wanna go study under a true alchemist?” Chris paused for a moment, letting Roy ponder her question. She wondered if he was going to turn down the opportunity at hand because of this William kid stepping in.

Roy met his aunt’s eyes. She saw a fire there that was so familiar. She saw the same look in her brother’s eyes many years ago. Chris saw so much of her brother in her nephew. Some days it was almost hard to separate them in her mind… the tenacity, the determination, the fierce need to protect those close to him. She didn’t have to wait for him to speak - she already knew his answer.

The letters were sent. The dates were set. Roy was going to study alchemy that following summer.

With each day that went by, Roy was equal parts excited and disappointed. As much as he was looking forward to seeing new places and learning new things, he was almost dreading leaving the familiar behind. Not to mention William.

When Roy explained to William that he was leaving to pursue an apprenticeship under a prestigious alchemist, Chris was surprised, to say the least.

“Roy…” William started. “We like each other. You and I both know it. But… it’s not proper.”

Chris had to stifle her sharp intake of breath as she shamelessly eavesdropped with three of the girls, hiding in the doorway between the stockroom and the bar.

“Not that we’re both male, don’t give me that look, Roy. I just… I always thought that there was plenty of time for good conversation and getting along now, and when we were both a little older, when the gap wouldn’t matter so much anymore, we could try for something. Now that I’m standing here thinking about it, we’re both still so young. We shouldn’t be holding each other back.”

Chris heard one of the girls let out a soft sigh. Whether in disappointment or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Seldom though it happened, Chris Mustang wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Hope because Roy was moving on? Or sadness, because she knew the bitter taste of a first love lost?

“Hey, hey, hey, none of that,” she heard William chide warmly. “Tell you what… if, at the end of your alchemy training, we’re both not seeing anyone, come look me up. I’ll be sure to leave any forwarding information with the Madam. I want what’s best for you, Roy - and I think this will make you the happiest in the long run.”

She heard clothes rustling as, she assumed, they stood, and William prepared to leave. The sound of the door closing followed soon after. As much as Chris dreaded dealing with a broken heart, she had all of the respect in the world for William in that moment.

William returned during the remaining weeks before Roy departed; however, the aspiring alchemist never left the safe confines of the bar area while William was there. Roy was polite and cordial, but not in the open and warm way he had previously been. Roy always ensured that Anna would serve him - it was enough for him that someone who knew what William liked would be helping him.

The tense weeks moved quickly by, soon making way for a frenzy of buying supplies, packing, and saying goodbyes.

Chris watched as her son boarded an East City-bound train. She waved as the train pulled out of the station. Her Roy-Boy was bound and determined to become the apprentice his master had been looking for. And she was determined to not let him see the sparkle in her eyes.

_Damn this weather,_ Chris thought as she looked up to the blue, cloudless sky and felt the wetness on her cheek.


	2. The Miss and the Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any other east coast friends disappointed that we didn't get the foot of snow they were calling for? Thank heavens it's raining again, though, my mud was getting dehydrated *eyeroll emoji*.
> 
> ANYWAY... Thank you so much for the great comments on chapter 1!!! This has been in the works for a while and to finally receive some feedback on it was so magnificent. You guys are the best.
> 
> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPC_MPDG). Not only is she the best, she's also the best!

Roy’s joints protested as he stood up from his seat on the train. Stretching and shaking the tiredness out of his limbs, he retrieved his suitcase from the overhead luggage rack.

The new scholar eagerly made his way down the narrow corridor of the train, carelessly knocking the worn, leather suitcase against the equally worn, red, upholstered seats as he passed. However, he stopped short of utterly leaping onto the platform. Roy remembered that he was here to prove himself, so he stepped down cautiously. He was a scholar, an alchemist, and no matter how anxious he was to get started, he forced himself to appear calm and polite.

The East City train station was completely different than Roy had anticipated. Growing up in Central meant that Roy was accustomed to hustle and bustle around the train station. As he stepped off the platform and looked around, he realized that it was...quiet.

_ Not much going on today, huh? _ he thought. The whole city seemed sleepy, despite it being well in to the afternoon, almost the evening.  _ Maybe it’s more appropriate to call it a town, rather than a city, _ Roy pondered. By definition of its name, it was a city. But seeing it definitely made him think of something smaller, something closer.

Continuing to look around, he saw that the streets were structured similarly to Central, but the further out from the train station one went, the farther apart the houses were spaced. To the right, set back into the green hills, was the military base. Significantly smaller than the one that was housed in Central, yet still impressive, Roy almost couldn’t believe that this was the home of the best offensive forces in the military. Turning to his left, he could see the river shining in the early evening sunlight between the houses.

Looking at the paper in his hand with his new master’s address, he started to the right when he heard a voice ask, “Roy Mustang?”

Roy spun around and saw a girl with bright blonde hair cut in a very close crop with a fringe across her forehead. _She’s cute_ , he thought. She looked like the quintessential tomboy next door, although the concept was something that was still vague to Roy, seeing as his room was next to Anna’s in the private quarters of the Madam’s bar. When he looked into her brown eyes, though, he saw someone who was wise beyond her years. “Yes?”

“I’m Riza Hawkeye. I’ve been sent to collect you from the station and bring you to the house.” Roy caught himself before he commented on her language being so sophisticated for her age. He didn’t realize that his master had a daughter, but if the rumors about how tough he were on his students were true, that would most likely explain her vocabulary, too.

“Oh! Hello, Miss Hawkeye; it’s so nice to meet you. You didn’t have to do that, though, I could have found my way.”

She looked at him, her face emotionless. “While I don’t doubt you, Mr. Mustang, the house is this way,” she pronounced, pointing to the left.

Roy smiled sheepishly and ruffled the back of his hair. “As I said, I would have found my way… eventually.”

Miss Hawkeye rolled her eyes and scoffed quietly. “Follow me,” she directed. “The house is just on the other side of the river, about a 20 minute walk.” She turned and started in that direction.

_ Definitely wise beyond her years,  _ thought Roy as he checked once more for all his belongings. He hurried to catch up with the blonde.

After what felt like forever, but in reality was only a few moments of silence, Roy spoke.  _ I should get to know her if we’re going to be living together - plus I wonder if she can give me any information on her father. _

“Have you lived here your whole life?”

“Yes, I have,” she responded shortly.

The measured vowels and crisp enunciation of the young girl’s voice were strikingly dissimilar from the lazier Eastern accent that Roy expected to hear in these parts. He slipped that particular tidbit of information into a folder in his mind tentatively labeled “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter.”

After a few moments, Miss Hawkeye sighed, sounding annoyed by the prospect of small talk. “And you? Where were you born and raised?”

“Central. Not in the same house my whole life, but still in Central nonetheless.”

“Oh? Have you moved around a lot?” Miss Hawkeye questioned. She immediately looked like she was cross with herself for engaging with Roy in any way.

“No, only once,” said Roy. Quickly, he decided to elaborate a bit while he still had her talking. “When my parents died, I moved in with my aunt. I was pretty young, though, so I don’t remember moving.”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Hawkeye murmured, eyes cast to the ground.

“It’s okay,” Roy shrugged. “Like I said, I was really young. I wish I had gotten to know them better, but I am really lucky to have my Aunt Chris.”

Miss Hawkeye nodded her head as they started over the bridge spanning the river. Very quietly, she added, “My mother died when I was younger, too. Perhaps not as young as you, though.”

“I’m sorry,” said Roy plainly, but sincerely. “At least you still have your father?”

At this, her face turned stony. “My father isn’t quite the parenting type. I’m taken care of - I have shelter, I’m fed, I have clothes, but affection isn’t his strong suit.”

Roy frowned. “Hm. Well, as long as I’m here, I think I’d like to be your friend, Miss Hawkeye.” 

The aspiring alchemist slipped on his most disarming smile like a pair of old gloves. He threw the tried and true expression in Miss Hawkeye’s direction, expecting her friendship and trust in return. The young blonde was not so easily persuaded.

She glanced sideways at him as he continued to walk beside her. “My father doesn’t take kindly to his apprentices attempting to...befriend...me,” Miss Hawkeye said coldly, her eyes returning to the packed dirt street in front of her.

“O-oh...okay…” Roy stuttered, slightly deflated. “I mean… I just thought… Well. It’s up to you. I’m not here to make enemies. If you don’t want to be friends, that’s okay, but I’m not going to bite.”

Miss Hawkeye looked over at him again. “We’ll see. Most of father’s apprentices don’t last very long, anyway.” An uncomfortable silence hung between the two as they continued walking, Roy lagging behind his master’s daughter.

As the young man wound his way down the dingy dirt path, he mulled over everything that he found out from Miss Hawkeye.  _ She just seems so… standoffish, _ thought Roy. He wondered if she really didn’t want to get to know him or if there was something else at play. His thoughts shifted to her father. His new master.

_ She says that he’s cold, that he doesn’t show her affection. But then she says that he’s overprotective of her if one of his apprentices tries to befriend her? I can’t get a read on him...or her.  _ Roy continued pondering over what he thought was in store for him until the blonde in front of him stopped abruptly.

“Here we are.” Miss Hawkeye gestured to her right. Roy’s mouth dropped open. Though Miss Hawkeye had dismissed the family home as just a house, Roy thought it was more accurately described as a mansion.

“This is where you live??” Roy said, dumbstruck.

“Yes?” Miss Hawkeye questioned. “What’s wrong with it?”   


“Nothing! It’s huge!!” Roy exclaimed.

“It’s not that impressive. Certainly you’ve seen better housing in Central?” she asked cooly.

“Not like this,” Roy said, an air of wonder seeping into his voice. He looked at the two-story - wait, three-story? - white stone house that seemed to loom over the landscape. The yard was impeccably maintained and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with a large gate in the front. Red brick made up the corners of the house and outlined the chimneys on each side. Beyond the fenced-in backyard, Roy could see the base of the hills, lined with trees. 

The squeaking of the gate opening pulled Roy out of his thoughts.

“Are you coming in?” Miss Hawkeye asked as she smirked. It was then that the boy realized that she might have been taking him for a ride.

“Definitely,” Roy smiled back.

They traveled up the path together, and as they approached the front door, it began to open. A figure stood in the doorway. The shadow seemed imposing, despite the slight frame of the individual. A voice sounded from the darkness.

“Welcome, Roy Mustang. I am Berthold Hawkeye, and I will be your new alchemy teacher.”

Roy gulped at the deep, rough voice. But then he steeled his nerves and bowed low.

“Nice to meet you, Master Hawkeye. I am greatly humbled by your offer and will work hard to not disappoint you,” Roy intoned slowly and deliberately, making sure to use his most polite and obedient voice.

As the new student straightened his back, he noticed Hawkeye had stepped into the light and was looking down his nose at him. To his surprise, his master chuckled.

“Ease up, son. I expect a lot out of my apprentices, but you don’t have to be like... _ that _ .”

Roy’s eyes slightly widened as he took in the master’s appearance. Master Hawkeye, at first glance, was dressed smartly in a deep brown lounging robe. Around his neck was a matching red ascot that stood out against his white shirt. Upon closer inspection, however, Roy noticed that the clothes were faded and worn around the edges. His master was slim and slightly withered, which surprised the protégé, considering how striking the man’s shadow was. His long, sandy hair hung lank around his sallow face. As Roy was taking in his appearance, Hawkeye continued speaking.

“Yes, I want your respect; no, I don’t want you to bend over backwards to try to please me. You are going to live here until I see that you are no longer fit to study with me. I expect you to study and work hard, but I also expect you to make this house your home. Are you ready to begin?”

Roy took a deep breath. He smiled. “Yes, sir, I am.”

“Good,” replied Hawkeye. “Then why don’t you come in?” He turned and walked into the house, Miss Hawkeye following behind him. Roy stood on the doorstep, the whiplash of his expectations versus the actual conversation left him reeling for a moment. Shaking his head minutely, Roy stepped over the threshold.

Compared to the warmth outside, the house was cool. The inside was not nearly as extravagant as the outside appeared, and, in fact, it felt rather cozy. From where Roy was standing, he could see the hardwood floors extend into the rooms on each side of the entryway. To his left was a sitting room with a coordinated set of furniture; the armchairs looked like they had seen better days, but were still in decent shape. To his right was a study with a large desk. 

Rich built-in mahogany bookshelves covered the walls of Master Hawkeye’s study from floor to ceiling. Straight ahead on the right side of the hallway, the steps on the ornate staircase were partially obscured by carpeting that was slightly worn in the middle. The hardwood floors continued down the left side of the hallway and traversed all the way to the back of the house. There, Roy could see another doorway on the left of the house and what he assumed was a kitchen at the end of the hallway.

Hawkeye fluidly and confidently took a right into the study and motioned for Roy to follow him. Leaving his things in the entryway, Roy stepped through the doorway and pulled the pocket door behind him closed, hopefully walking as confidently as his master. The younger alchemist’s legs, however, wobbled under him - partially from nerves, partially from excitement.

He sat down gingerly in the chair across from Master Hawkeye, almost scared to make a noise.

“How much do you know about alchemy?” Hawkeye asked Roy over his steepled fingers.

“I know the basics,” Roy started. “I know the law of equivalent exchange… some basic transmutation circles… I know the periodic table of elements!” he finished enthusiastically.

“That’s a decent foundation. Let’s hope you were taught correctly, hm?”

Roy faltered. He didn’t even think that what he had learned could be faulty information. Or even that the basis of how he started to learn could be incorrect.

Master Hawkeye leaned forward in his chair, still eyeing the new student sitting in front of him, seeming to sense the sudden apprehension in his the young alchemist. Quietly, he spoke.

“Alchemy is a science, first and foremost. However, alchemy is also an art, something that must be crafted. Any hack in the kitchen can scramble an egg; it might not be the best-tasting scrambled egg that you’ve ever had, but it’s serviceable food. Similarly, any mediocre alchemist can fix a broken vase or destroy a sidewalk to make some rubble to throw at an opponent. I am not here to teach you that.”

Roy hung on every word that his master articulated with rapt attention. The man in front of him did not need a production or to make a fuss to get someone to pay attention. No, Berthold Hawkeye spoke quietly, with passion and intensity in his voice.

“I am here to teach you the finer points of alchemy. I want you to know the theory behind the alchemy you’re using, the inner workings, and the way of thinking that comes with knowing what you’re doing on an elemental level. Alchemy is comprehension. Alchemy is deconstruction. And alchemy is reconstruction. If a student doesn’t understand all of these individual details, they will not continue to study with me.”

The apprentice closed his mouth when he realized it was hanging open slightly. Hawkeye nodded and sat back in his chair again. The tone of his voice was significantly more lighthearted as he continued.

“Have you started on any of the books that I named in my letter?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Roy.

“And?” prompted Hawkeye.

“What would you like to know, sir?” Roy said hesitantly.

“Wait, you’ve read all of the books?”

Roy nodded. 

“I didn’t mean for you to get through all of them by the time you got here,” he voiced, surprised. “I figured you would get through one, maybe two… All of them? And you understood them?”

Roy nodded again, this time slowly. “There were a few things that I had to look up because I didn’t quite understand them,” he explained, “but I got the concepts eventually.”

Hawkeye’s face lit up in a strange, crooked half smile. “Then you, my boy, are greatly underestimating your alchemic abilities.”

Roy’s thoughts began to race.  _ What is this man comparing me to, his previous students? Or himself? Am I in over my head here? What if I didn’t study something well enough? How can I make sure I actually retained everything I read? _

Before his thoughts could spiral further down a rabbit hole, Roy heard his master continue to talk and realized that he should probably be paying more attention.

“I expect you to be in this office by 8 o’clock every morning for the next few weeks. I won’t keep you extraordinarily long - it doesn’t do the mind or the body good to be cooped up. After a while, we may extend the hours that we spend together.”

“Yes, sir.” At the very moment Roy began to wonder what they would be covering during his lessons, Master Hawkeye continued.

“At first, we will mainly be discussing the topics in the books that you have read. Practical progress will begin soon after I ensure that you understand the theory.”

Roy swallowed slowly. Audibly. He incredulously started to wonder if there was a form of alchemy that could allow one to read the minds of unsuspecting subordinates. It was extremely unsettling and truly made Roy think about how many students before him had also received this speech.

“You have no poker face, do you? Calm down.” Master Hawkeye’s eyes and tone shimmered with mirth. It did nothing other than confuse - and maybe intimidate - Roy even more. 

“If you don’t understand something, I’ll explain it to you. Most of my former pupils didn’t make it through the second book on the list. So we’ll go through them one by one and discuss the literature. But for now? Now, it’s time to rest. I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. Have you eaten?”

“Yes sir,” Roy said, still not quite following his new master’s train of thought. “I ate on the train.”

“Fine. Go and rest. Your room is upstairs. If you need anything tonight, or throughout your entire time here, find either Riza or myself.” Master Hawkeye stood from his chair and walked around the desk, motioning for Roy to stand. Hawkeye clapped a hand on his shoulder and guided him to the door, opening it with the other hand.

A slight shudder went down Roy’s back as he realized that Master Hawkeye felt more like a skeleton than the imposing figure that he presented in the doorway. There seemed to be a disconnect between quite a few things regarding Berthold Hawkeye, now that Roy thought about it. 

His own daughter called him cold and distant, but the young man didn’t see any of that during this meeting. In fact, he found Master Hawkeye rather approachable. Even more confusing was the alchemist’s reaction to Roy reading all of the books. In one breath, he seemed excited by the prospect of having a student that might be worth a damn, but in the next, he sounded doubtful that this student would work out any better than the others.

There were far too many intricacies in Berthold Hawkeye’s personality for Roy to unpack on the first night, but each of these thoughts went into a new mental file: Master Hawkeye.

“Get a good night’s rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

Roy spun around in the doorway to bid Hawkeye good night but found the pocket door halfway closed. He dazedly went to pick up his belongings and saw they were no longer in the entryway where he left them. Roy glanced up the staircase, only then realizing that Hawkeye said that his room was “upstairs.” His new master hadn’t bothered to specify which room Roy was expected to occupy, and in a house this size, he’d be lucky to locate his belongings before nightfall.

He started up the stairs, taking in the ornate detail of the banister as he walked. When he reached the top step, he noticed that there were quite a few doors upstairs, but only two were open. As he approached the first ajar door, he found a bathroom, and, conveniently enough, the door after it on the opposite side of the hallway had a large four-poster bed with a matching dresser and nightstand. On the bed was Roy’s suitcase.

“Thank you,” Roy said quietly to the deserted hallway of closed doors. He hoped his message made it to the person who brought his things to his room. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of a butler or a servant, but that was the mark of a good one, wasn’t it?

As he unpacked his belongings and changed his clothes, it dawned on him that it most likely wasn’t a servant that brought his things to his room. No… it was more likely that it was Miss Hawkeye. Riza.

The sun had finally begun to set, brilliant oranges and reds filling his new room, and Roy collapsed into his bed, physically and mentally exhausted. Thoughts spun in his head.

_ Master Hawkeye doesn’t seem too bad,  _ he thought.  _ Sure, he seems a bit rough around the edges, but… well, I was kind of expecting worse. Between his reputation as an alchemy master and then what Miss Hawkeye told me as we walked to the house… I’m still not really sure what to think. And he doesn’t quite look healthy, but he gets around okay and doesn’t sound like he’s knocking on death’s door. _

As the sun faded, so did Roy. He lay in bed fast asleep, minutes after his head hit the pillow. If he hadn’t fallen succumbed to his exhaustion so quickly, he would have noticed the young blonde resident of the house peeking into the room through the barely-closed door. 

Riza had seen many apprentices come and go under her father’s tutelage, but for some reason, this one seemed different. And she wasn’t sure why. But when it came right down to it, why make the effort to find out how he was different? Why expect him to stay when they all left her lonelier than they’d found her?

When the first rays of moonlight began to dance across his almond-shaped eyes, she backed out of the doorway slowly, making sure the lights were extinguished and the door was securely closed. With a huff and a wary sideways glance at the room that housed her father’s newest apprentice, she continued to her room, half dreading breaking this one in.

Riza wasn’t quite sure that she would be able to convince her father that life was worth living, if this boy left, too. Every apprentice under Berthold Hawkeye’s tutelage had let him down, and one more devastating disappointment could meant that he never got up again.

As Riza closed her door and started her evening routine, she took a cleansing breath. Tomorrow began a new adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vino-and-doggos), or if you've jumped ship, you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/)!


	3. Antagony and Alchemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a hot second, hasn't it? Thanks for being patient with me. Real life has been kicking my ass lately. But hopefully, the groundhog was right and this is Real Spring this time!! #NoMoreSnow
> 
> As always, beta-ed by the wonderful [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites), AKA flourchildwrites. She's absolutely amazing, and she's got some really great fics that I highly recommend. Go check her stuff out and send her some love.
> 
> Now, for Chapter 3!

Roy awoke with a start. Not a nightmare. Not his alarm shrieking. Just in an unfamiliar place.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his racing heart. As soon as he started to calm down, however, he remembered that he had to meet with Master Hawkeye. _Fuck_. Was he late on his first day?

Roy scrambled out of bed, acutely aware that the taupe curtains on the four-poster were expelling small amounts of dust, as if indignant that they had been disturbed. Stumbling, he frantically pulled off his wrinkled pajama pants and glanced out the tallest of the windows in his room. Roy groaned, one foot still tangled in folds of fabric; the early light of day was just beginning to crack the horizon. Tendrils of pink-orange light had just started to seep through the crack in the curtains that matched the bedspread. In the pale gleam, the walls looked to be a sickly grey color - so unlike the deep, rich red of his room above the bar.

He briefly debated whether or not he should delay starting his day, but Roy’s bladder ached, demanding his full attention.

He re-situated his pants and stumbled into the hallway, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Roy was fairly certain that the bathroom was across the hall and to the left. He hesitantly approached and opened the door, and when he saw the cool blue tile, he was relieved - both physically and emotionally.

The young alchemist decided to make his way downstairs to poke around in the kitchen for some tea. As he descended the steps, he heard noise coming from the kitchen.

Roy attempted to sneak quietly down the hallway, approaching the kitchen with all the stealth of an excited labrador. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the mop of blonde hair move effortlessly around the kitchen.

“Was that really you attempting to be sneaky?” she asked, almost cruel humor evident in her voice. Miss Hawkeye hadn’t even turned around to speak to him. She just continued putting away dishes and checked on the kettle on the stove. Roy jumped at the sound of her voice.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, almost out of reflex. At this question, Miss Hawkeye turned to look at him, a deadpan expression gracing her delicate features.

“Your footsteps are heavy, your clothes swish when you move, and I could hear you breathing.” Miss Hawkeye looked over her shoulder at him standing stunned in the doorway. “You might as well sit down. I’ll be starting breakfast in a few minutes.”

Roy slowly made his way to the small table and sat down, still regarding the back of the blonde’s head with a stupefied expression on his face. “How did you hear all of that?” There was so much noise as she continued cleaning - the clink of dishes against one another, the hiss of the gas at the stove, and the percussive sound of bubbles beginning to form as the water boiled all culminated in the quiet cacophony that was kitchen noise.

Inelegantly, Miss Hawkeye snorted. “Well, City Boy, the better question is how you think we get our meat here. I go hunting. You’d scare away a deer from five miles out with footsteps like those.”

“What’s wrong with a butcher shop?” Roy asked.

“Money,” Miss Hawkeye said shortly. “We’re not in the poorhouse, but why pay for meat when I can hunt it for the price of bullets? I do usually take it to the butcher for them to process it. He keeps the pelts as a fee.”

“Oh,” Roy intoned. He realized at that moment that he had never thought about where the goods he consumed came from. As he looked at the table in front of him, he heard Miss Hawkeye clear her throat.

“A vegetarian breakfast for you, then?” she said, not as unkindly as she had previously spoken to him, as she placed a cup of tea on the table in front of him.

Roy smiled sheepishly. “No, no, I’m sorry. I guess I just never thought about it before. Don’t feel like you have to cater to me! Thank you,” he said, nodding towards the teacup.

Miss Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at him and turned back to her task on the stove, now sizzling brightly with spicy-smelling meat in one pan and eggs in another. Roy sat and sipped his tea, oscillating between watching the girl bounce around the kitchen and taking in the rather spacious backyard through the window. As far as he could tell, the Hawkeye property extended to the tree line, a good fifty yards from the house.

Suddenly, his thoughts turned as he realized what an ungracious guest he was being. Aunt Chris would be ashamed. “Can I help you with anything?” Roy blurted, recognizing only after the words had escaped his mouth that Miss Hawkeye was putting a plate in front of him.

She looked down at his reddened face, a suspicious and questioning look marring her features. “No, not really,” she responded, a hard edge to her voice. “I’ll be right back.” With that, she dashed out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a covered plate, a teacup filled with liquid, and what Roy thought might be a sugar bowl.

He heard her ascend the stairs as he turned back to his breakfast, frowning at the short answer he received. The grimace was short-lived, however; Roy didn’t realize how hungry he was until he saw the food placed in front of him. He started to eat, still looking around and taking in his surroundings.

He hadn’t been in the kitchen last night. And it looked just like what he imagined a kitchen in a normal house would look like, he supposed. The kitchen at the bar was an industrial one, one designed to prepare food for a crowd of people all at once; Madam’s kitchen was cold, hard, and shiny. The Hawkeyes’ kitchen was more cozy, featuring a black cast iron stove along one wall and an intricately carved, coffee-colored buffet and hutch along the opposite wall. A checkerboard pattern adorned the floor.

The black and white pattern of the tile had just started to make Roy’s tired eyes dizzy when he heard Riza re-enter the kitchen.

“Do you ever get to eat breakfast with your father?” Roy casually asked.

“Sometimes,” Riza responded. “He usually sleeps in until the last minute, though. Up doing research,” she added, a hint of disdain tinting her voice.

Roy hummed in response. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, taking in the flavor of the meat - maybe pork? - before asking another question.

“I don’t mean any offense by this Miss Hawkeye, so please don’t take it as such.” A pregnant pause filled the air as Roy debated on whether or not he should continue. Master Hawkeye’s frail frame wasn’t something he felt he could ignore. “Your father doesn’t look well. Has he been sick recently?”

Miss Hawkeye seemed to deflate slightly as she sat down at the table with a plate of food. She hesitated, as though considering whether or not to even say anything at all.

“Father fell ill about three years ago. It was the same sickness that… took mama… I mean, Mother. But Father got better.” Bitterly and quietly, she said, “At least I _thought_ he got better.” She carefully schooled her face into what might pass as indifference, letting the implication hang in the air.

The boy floundered for a moment. Dead parents he could handle. He’d been handling that on his own behalf for just about as long as he could remember. But a parent dying slowly, life and death hanging in the balance right before the young man’s very eyes? What was he supposed to think or say or do? There was one thing Roy was positive of: there was no way, on any plane of existence, that Miss Riza Hawkeye would accept any form of sympathy from him. So, he went with the optimistic route.

Clearing his throat, Roy said, “I’m sure the heat yesterday didn’t help. He’ll probably fair better as the days get milder. He’ll be able to get some more strength back before the cold sets in.”

Miss Hawkeye nodded as she lifted a bite of food to her mouth; he noticed that she didn’t look convinced.

Roy stood, reflexively taking his breakfast dishes to the sink. He scrubbed his plate and utensils, followed by his teacup. Turning to the stove, he grabbed the cast iron pans. Before the young man had made his way back to the sink, however, Miss Hawkeye maneuvered into in his path.

“Stop cleaning. That’s not something you’re expected to do.” She looked him like an alchemist - comprehending, deconstructing, and reconstructing the bits and pieces of her father’s latest apprentice. However, her gaze held no curiosity. It was uncertainty.

“It might not be expected of me,” started Roy, “ but I live here now, too. I don’t expect you to clean up after me. I’ll be as much help as I can be around the house.”

Roy heard Miss Hawkeye scoff under her breath. “Are you sure you know how?” Her eyes flitted from the pans in his hands to the soapy water in the sink.

“I helped my aunt and sisters clean since I was pretty young. I think I can handle it,” the young alchemist responded frigidly.

He noted, with some pride, that Miss Hawkeye seemed taken aback. “Do you want me to help you finish the dishes?” he inquired, an air of chilliness still permeating his tone, though it had warmed significantly in comparison to his last statement.

“I’ll wash, you dry?” the blonde grudgingly suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Roy responded, astonished that she agreed at all.

She looked at the pans again and said, “First thing… cast iron pans don’t go in soap. Ever.”

They worked quickly in companionable, albeit slightly awkward, silence. As Roy finished drying and stacking the last dish, he turned to Miss Hawkeye.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he started. “The last twenty-four hours have just been really overwhelming for me. Me coming here has to really throw a wrench in, well, everything.”

“Apology accepted,” she said efficiently. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t capable. I’ve done everything by myself for so long now that it’s just second nature.”

_She didn’t actually apologize for her behavior, though,_ Roy noted. _Not that it really matters,_ he thought.

“Thank you for breakfast, Miss Hawkeye.”

Eyebrows raised, she regarded the alchemist before her and hesitantly nodded.

_She still doesn’t trust me. Although… Maybe this was a step in the right direction._

Just then, he heard the tell-tale sounds of movement in the bedroom above them. Realizing he only had about a half an hour before he was set to meet with Master Hawkeye, Roy excused himself to finish getting ready for the day.

He walked up the stairs contemplating the interesting meal he just shared with the youngest member of the household. Roy reached his room only to see the disheveled mess that he left the bed in as he rushed to get ready “on time” earlier.

The boy strode over to the bed with an air of determination. He straightened the sheets, comforter, and pillows and resolved that Miss Hawkeye would not be taking care of all of these chores by herself anymore. Stepping back and admiring the simple job, Roy smiled.

He approached his suitcase, resigned to unpacking later that day, and grabbed the first set of clothes he laid his hands on, and his toothbrush. He headed back towards the bathroom.

After washing his face, brushing his teeth, and changing into a new set of clothes, Roy felt ready and confident to tackle the day. He returned his belongings to his room and, glancing at the clock, realized he was due in Master Hawkeye’s study in only a few moments.

Stepping lightly, he made his way back down the stairs. _My footsteps are_ not _heavy,_ the apprentice thought. The young man took care to move in such a manner that wouldn’t make nearly as much sound.

Roy stopped in the doorway and found Master Hawkeye sitting at his desk.

“Well, come in. Let’s get started.”

 

* * *

  

The morning passed by either agonizingly slow or astonishingly fast depending on the mood of Master Hawkeye, and by the end of it, Roy had lost all sense of time. For hours, he remained in the center of the dimly lit study as Berthold paced the perimeter of his office. The young alchemist quickly learned to stand when answering Hawkeye’s questions and to sit and jot down what notes he possibly could when the learned man chose to lecture. Most of his notes were simply terms with “look up later” scrawled in nearly illegible writing beside it.

At times, Roy thought he was drowning; it seemed as though Master Hawkeye would question the propriety of an answer simply for the sake of doing so. Other moments, his teacher fell silent, shaky hands rummaging through the well-stocked bookshelves for a new book that he promptly tossed in Roy’s direction.

By the end of the morning, the aspiring alchemist had three more books to read, a task that would easily consume what was left of the day. Suddenly, he understood that his afternoons were not for rest or recklessness. He was expected to study - and study hard.

Around 2:00 in the afternoon, Roy and Master Hawkeye emerged from the study. The apprentice felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

“Good work today, boy. I’m impressed with everything you managed to learn from the books alone,” the long-haired man pronounced.

Roy managed a weak smile and nod in his master’s direction. He was _exhausted_. And hungry. Breakfast with Miss Hawkeye seemed so far away. Master Hawkeye must have read his thoughts.

“I’ll bet there’s lunch prepared for us,” Hawkeye said as he used the hand on Roy’s shoulder to steer him towards the kitchen. Just as he suspected, there was a covered plate of sandwiches on the countertop waiting for them.

“Thank you,” Roy said meekly to the air, hoping that Miss Hawkeye would hear him, wherever she was.

After appetites had been sated, it seemed that Master Hawkeye’s daughter appeared from nowhere, only to disappear again, this time into the study with her father. While the small family converged, Roy returned to his room and unpacked his belongings. He barely managed to finish removing items from his suitcase before he heard the door to the study open and close again.

The apprentice noted that their meeting didn’t take long, but Roy couldn’t help but wonder what it was all about. He collapsed onto his bed with his notebook and pen and set out to write a letter to his aunt. He should probably let the Madam know that he made it safe and sound.

 

* * *

 

The months continued similarly. Every day, Roy would wake up and have breakfast with Miss Hawkeye. However, the conversation between the two youths remained stilted. No matter what he did, the little lady of the house refused to open up. Aunt Chris's letters counseled patience and persistence, and if there was one thing the Madam understood, it was a woman with a complicated past.

_Keep trying_ , she wrote in her semi-regular correspondence. Her script, much like her advice, was bold and straightforward. _Don't let her talk down to you, but never bite back. Little girls who were forced to grow up too fast are always too tough on the outside, Roy. Thankfully, I don't have to worry about you falling for her. William sends his regards._

After breakfast, Roy met with Master Hawkeye, and by 2:00 (but never before noon) they would break for lunch. Then, Miss Hawkeye entered the study for, what the young alchemist discovered, her own tutoring session. Roy scrambled each afternoon to complete the assigned reading. In between books, he attempted to rewrite the hastily-scrawled notes from that day’s lesson, as well as include anything that Master Hawkeye had stressed that he pay attention to during his reading. Evenings were dedicated to more shared meals between the youths of the house and leisure, though Roy would occasionally bring work that Master Hawkeye assigned. Miss Hawkeye preferred to complete her own schoolwork at the breakfast table after the meal had been cleared.

"So you're not studying alchemy with him after all. Just algebra and basic science?" Roy asked one morning over a piece of freshly baked bread. The loaf was dense, almost deflated, but he knew better than to complain. Miss Hawkeye chuckled sarcastically in response.

“I had to leave school when Mother got sick,” she said scornfully as her small fist curled into a ball. “So Father has continued to teach me.” A dark look crossed her face as her eyes traveled towards the door to Master Hawkeye’s study. Roy put another mental note in the “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter” folder: try to never be on the receiving end of that look.

The arrangement made sense when Roy stopped to think about it; if he had thought about it for more than a half a second his first night there, he probably would have made that conclusion on his own. How could Miss Hawkeye play housekeeper so well if she was also expected to attend school Monday through Friday? What he wasn’t expecting was the temper that came along with the answer or the edge to her voice that seethed with thinly-veiled disdain.

 

* * *

 

One mild November morning, Roy strolled into the kitchen and was shocked to see Master Hawkeye sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. The young alchemist suddenly felt like the air was sucked out of the room. Was he still wearing his pajamas? Fuck. He was _definitely_ still wearing his pajamas. Just because Hawkeye could walk around in his lounge-abouts didn’t mean that his apprentice could.

“Good morning, sir,” Roy said, careful to keep his face nonchalant, thinking _poker face, poker face, poker face_. Master Hawkeye had just had a talk with him the previous week about how alchemists had to protect their secrets and their research; to do that, Roy needed to learn to not show every emotion that he felt across his face. Roy was still trying to figure out what kind of research his teacher had conducted, but in the meantime, it was all about learning what he could and gaining the trust of his superior.

“Good morning, Mister Mustang,” the master responded with a nod of approval.

Miss Hawkeye, as usual, was flitting about the kitchen, getting breakfast ready. She and Roy had fallen into a pleasant rhythm over the past few months, despite conversations between them still feeling about as warm as Briggs in the middle of January. Roy retrieved plates and utensils from the appropriate cabinets. He set them on the countertop beside the stove, waited for Miss Hawkeye to fill them with food, and then delivered them to the table.

He could feel the older man’s eyes on him as he went about the normal morning routine. Master Hawkeye’s eyes were still glued to the boy as Roy gently put a plate down in front of him. “Thank you,” he grumbled, eyes never leaving Roy.

“I didn’t really do much,” Roy hedged sheepishly. “All the credit should go to Miss Hawkeye.” Roy turned to Riza to see that she had stiffened, her back still to the table. The small smile faded from Roy’s face.

Master Hawkeye cleared his throat. “Thank you, Riza.”

“You’re welcome, Father,” she responded crisply. She turned and made her way to the table, carrying a teapot and other necessary accouterments.

The trio ate awkwardly in silence.

Silence around a meal table wasn’t something Roy was used to, given the bustle of the bar, the rowdiness of his sisters, and the general calamity of attempting to feed so many mouths all at once. Even at the Hawkeye’s house, meals shared between Miss Hawkeye and Roy were never silent, though they were generally less boisterous than the meals the boy grew up with.

The clink of silverware against plates and the occasional ting of a glass being set down slightly too hard seemed to reverberate around the room. The young man would give almost anything to be back at the bar where he never had to worry about silence around a meal. Anything except a quality alchemical education, he supposed.

Master Hawkeye finished his food first, stood from the table, and addressed Roy, breaking the silence. “When you’re done, we’ll get started for the day.” Roy watched him walk around the table and continue down the hallway into his study. The apprentice turned back to the table just in time to see Miss Hawkeye’s demeanor relax significantly.

“Is everything… Are you okay?” Roy asked hesitantly. All he got was a stiff nod in return.

Roy began gathering dishes and moved towards the sink as he usually did when he heard a small sound from behind him.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said.

“Don’t worry about the dishes today. I’ll take care of it,” Miss Hawkeye explained. “Go ahead and start your lesson.”

Roy shot her a confused look but did as she asked. He walked down the hallway and entered Berthold’s study, only to find Master Hawkeye sitting at his desk with steepled fingers, not unlike the first night Roy met the man.

“What are your intentions toward my daughter.” The sentence was phrased like a question, but spoken with the cold clarity of a statement that left Roy shivering.

“Nothing, sir,” he said honestly. “We talk over breakfast, sometimes discuss what we’re studying. Occasionally she’s recommended books to me, as I have done for her. But otherwise, we don’t really interact. And besides, it’s not like I would like her anyway, I have a boy- uh, I mean someone waiting back in Central,” Roy rushed through his quasi-rambling explanation.

_This is it,_ he thought. _I’m out. I’m done for._

Even though he managed to keep his face straight throughout his explanation, the beads of sweat rolling down his neck betrayed him. Hawkeye’s lessons in controlling his emotions were working for his facial expressions. Roy’s bodily reactions were harder to dominate.

A raised eyebrow dominated his master’s face for a few silent seconds. Then, to Roy’s shock, a toothy smile split Hawkeye’s face. It looked almost demented in the low light of the morning.

“Thank you for your honesty, boy. I appreciate that you’ve respected me by not attempting to cross any boundaries.”

Roy frowned internally at this. Miss Hawkeye was the one who said she wasn’t interested in being friends. He was respecting her, not Master Hawkeye.

“But you don’t have to isolate yourself. You two can be friends,” the older man continued.

Roy made a sarcastic sort of sound. “Maybe you should tell her that,” he muttered under his breath. He realized at the last second that was said a bit louder than he meant to. Roy looked up, the slight panic in his eyes meeting the calm expression of his master.

He chuckled again, and Roy could have sworn he heard him say, “Maybe I will.”

“Alright, Mister Mustang. Let’s get started for the day. If you remember, I had you read and review _Alchemic Transmutations of Water._ Mercury is commonly associated with water in alchemy. What is the alchemical symbol that we use to denote water?”

“An upside-down triangle,” Roy answered confidently.

Master Hawkeye’s lips quirked up. “Correct. Now, explain why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Come visit me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vino-and-doggos), or if you've jumped ship, give me a follow on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vino_and_doggos). Feedback is greatly appreciated. Every kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscription makes my cold heart defrost a little bit.


	4. Soldiers and Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up late drinking iced coffee*
> 
> Do you ever get so caught up in IRL stuff that you almost forget you have a WIP sitting around? No? Just me? Whoops.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! I was inspired by Janieshi's [Espionage](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9165183/1/Espionage) for this one. If you haven't read this classic yet, please go check it out!
> 
> My wonderful, beautiful beta, [A Passing Housewife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourchildwrites) is honestly amazing, and everyone should go read some of the fan-freaking-tastic stuff that she's recently posted.
> 
> Without further ado...

A year passed faster than Roy ever thought a year could pass. The oppressing warmth of summer made way for falling leaves and crisp air. Soon, crisp air became downright, bitter cold with a side of precipitation, which didn’t stop as the weather got warmer, but it was more bearable knowing that green buds were sprouting, dotting the stark landscape. Before he knew it, it was July again, and the heat had returned in full force. He had been with the Hawkeyes for a full year. And he was  _ finally _ beginning to perform basic transmutations. The apprentice had never been so happy to see a piece of chalk.

That afternoon, as Roy sat in the front room to practice drawing the arrays that Master Hawkeye assigned him, he heard a soft knock on the door. Looking hesitantly toward the closed study, Roy knew that there was no way his master was going to let Miss Riza’s lesson be interrupted just to answer the door. He sidled over, thinking how strange it was that this was the first time someone had come calling in the entire year he had been there. Roy opened the door a crack and saw a man dressed in Amestrian Blue.

“Oh, good afternoon, young man,” the soldier lilted. His Eastern accent was prevalent, almost disarmingly so. Roy cast him a wary look. He was a year older than when he arrived, and damn it, he had actually grown a few inches. In all reality, at sixteen, Roy only had a few more months before he could enlist himself. Well, with his Aunt Chris’s permission of course. A question from the soldier broke Roy from his thoughts. “Is Master Hawkeye home?”

“He is,” Roy affirmed; he didn’t want this  _ young man  _ to think he was home alone. “However, Master Hawkeye is preoccupied with something important.”

“I figured as much,” the soldier chuckled sheepishly, using his hand to ruffle the back of his close-cropped hair. “I just came to see if he had changed his mind. He never does, but that doesn’t mean the military is going to stop asking.”

“Change his mind about what?” Roy asked curiously as he opened the door further.

The soldier stuck out his hand. “The name is Barnes, kid. Jimmy Barnes.”

“Roy Mustang,” he said curtly. Still, the eager student returned the polite gesture and grasped the soldier’s - Barnes’s - hand. Roy was conflicted; on the one hand, Barnes didn’t seem like he was there on a malicious mission, and honestly he wanted to know a bit more about his master from someone who didn’t live in the same house as he currently resided in. But on the other hand, Roy felt like he should shut the door and return to his studies, protecting Hawkeye’s privacy.

Making a decision, Roy stepped outside onto the front stoop and closed the door behind him. “What exactly does the military want with Master Hawkeye?”

“I can’t believe you’re his apprentice and you don’t know!” Barnes chuckled. “Berthold Hawkeye is the only known alchemist who practices flame alchemy.”

“Flame alchemy?” Roy responded, hesitantly, but also somewhat eagerly. He watched the young cadet’s eyes light up.

“Yes! His transmutation circle can take a tiny spark and turn it into a towering inferno of flame! I’m not an alchemist myself, but I’ve heard rumors from people who have seen it in action,” Barnes sighed wistfully.

“And the military scientists and alchemists can’t figure it out?” Roy questioned.

Barnes shook his head. “They’ve been trying for the better part of the past decade. But they can’t seem to get the transmutation circle right, and even when they get close, well... From what I understand, they’ve blown up a few laboratory workspaces that way.”

Roy made a strangled sound between a laugh and a groan. The soldier chuckled in return.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “with the tensions in Ishval rising, flame alchemy would be an asset to the Amestrian military. Hawkeye doesn’t even have to become a state alchemist if he didn’t want to. I’m sure the alchemists would settle for having him on as an independent contractor.”

After a key phrase, everything else the soldier said had an overtone of radio static. “Tensions in Ishval?” Roy echoed. This was the first he had heard about it.   


Barnes nodded in the affirmative, but threw a furtive glance over his shoulder in retrospect. “Not a whole lot of news has reached any of the papers yet. So it seems like the military’s trying to keep a lid on the conflict, but it’s going to boil over soon. The Ishvalans aren’t happy with being rounded up and put in one spot. The locals aren’t comfortable with the Ishvalan religious practices. If you ask me, everything is a little bit strained.”

Roy took in this information. Ishval wasn’t that far from East City. Any sort of conflict could quickly spread to where he was. Would his alchemy training cease if a war broke out? His face must have demonstrated some kind of discomfort because Barnes’s demeanor suddenly changed. Roy carefully smoothed his features again.

“But I’m sure the military can handle it! Many upstanding men, like yourself, have joined up. Have you given it any thought, Roy?”

Roy shook his head and said out loud, “No, I haven’t.” Inwardly, he was floundering. What the hell kind of questioning was this? Master Hawkeye would be proud of his student’s placid facial features.

When Roy thought about joining the military and taking up arms, he remembered the military men who frequented his aunt’s notorious bar. Sure, there were some nice ones. The old man that Madam Christmas always saw privately in her own room once or twice a year seemed nice enough, though Roy had never had a conversation with him. But the old man had to be for the Madam to trust him like that, right?

The other soldiers that came to Christmas’ bar, however… They left something to be desired. The dirty men often came in with sunken eyes and haggard souls, but with the application of a bit of alcohol, they became raucous and rude to the girls, sometimes to the point of having to be forcefully removed from the premises. They entered in packs and would get sloppy drunk.  They left horrid messes in the men’s room  _ that I had to clean up,  _ thought Roy haughtily. From what he knew, there was nothing appealing about military men.

Well. Except maybe the dress blues.

Barnes seemed okay from what Roy could tell. But it was hard to base someone’s entire personality off of an interaction that, so far, had only lasted a few minutes.

The soldier seemed to notice the younger man in front of him was deep in thought. He waited a few moments before saying, “If you haven’t really thought of it before, now might be the time. You seem like a good kid, and if anything does happen in Ishval, we could use soldiers and alchemists alike. We’re not that bad,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Roy, who got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he had given this speech to a local youth.

“I suppose I’ll think about it,” Roy conceded. Just thinking about it wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? “Why did you join? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Barnes looked thoughtful while answering. “I guess I just thought I should protect my family. I’m the oldest and the only boy, and I’ve always felt like I needed to watch out for my little sisters. What better way than to step up and defend the nation as a part of the military?”

Roy nodded solemnly. That did make sense. He, too, was the only boy in a group of sisters - the fact that Roy-Boy was the youngest didn’t weigh on him too much, though. The parallels were enough.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “could you please just pass along the message to Mr. Hawkeye that, if he’s interested, to contact General Grumman?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Roy nodded sharply.

Barnes turned crisply and proceeded down the walkway. Roy let the chilly air wash over him as he entered the house, thankful once again for the cross-breeze that cooled the house down every night. Master Hawkeye and Miss Riza were still shut away in the study.

Heaving a sigh, Roy got back to tracing arrays onto pieces of scrap paper.

 

* * *

The following morning, Roy entered Master Hawkeye’s study as he had every day for the past year. Today started differently, though, when Roy was the one to begin their discussion. If there really was a war on the horizon, it would be best to broach the subject earlier rather than later, right?

“Master Hawkeye, there was something that I was supposed to bring to your attention.”

“Oh?” his superior questioned, curiosity obviously piqued.

“A soldier was here yesterday, asking for you,” Roy started. He faltered almost immediately when he saw the dark look set into Hawkeye’s face. Gathering his courage, Roy continued. Just because the master didn’t look happy didn’t mean that the message was going to remain undelivered in its entirety.

“He wanted you to consider joining the military as a state alchemist, or at least become a contracted researcher to teach the enlisted alchemists flame alchemy.” Even Roy was surprised at how steady his own voice held.

Hawkeye scoffed caustically. “I’m sure he did. And I’m sure he told you how much money I would make, and how much prestige the position would bring, and how it would be good for the citizens of Amestris!”

“Not quite, sir…” Roy started. This was the most he had heard Master Hawkeye speak, outside of reading excerpts from textbooks and asking the corresponding questions. Shocked at his master’s reaction, but ever the academic, the student couldn’t help himself. “What exactly is flame alchemy?”

“Precisely what it sounds like - a bad idea!” snapped Hawkeye.   


“But it sounds like prestigious research! Sir, you have a general in the  _ Amestrian Military _ asking for your research! It couldn’t be that bad!”

“You know nothing, boy,” Hawkeye spat. “This research is dangerous. Flames consume, and they consume quickly and without regard for anything else. In the wrong hands, a person, a family, an  _ entire village _ could go up in flames with the snap of a finger!”

“But sir, it could also help people! Can you imagine how much easier controlled burns for farmlands would be with an alchemist who could manipulate fire? Or utilizing an alchemist to keep heat on a steam engine? The positive uses for flame alchemy are endless. Surely the good outweighs the bad!” Roy protested.

Hawkeye suddenly got quiet and turned away from Roy, walking towards the dark, sooty fireplace. “Have you ever been burned, Mustang?”

“Burned, sir?”

“Yes, boy, burned. Be it from the stove, or spilling a hot mug of tea on yourself, or…” the master paused, looking at the embers left from the chilly spring nights months ago, “touching a fire.”

“Yes, sir, I have,” the apprentice confirmed.

“It’s not a pleasant sensation, is it?” Hawkeye paused, looking at Roy. “Long after the initial injury, the pain remains. It aches; it throbs. It might even blister or disfigure. Fire is not forgiving.”

“Still, sir,” Roy started quietly, trying a different tactic, “wouldn’t the money be helpful? You can’t tell me that an income, a salary, wouldn’t make a difference for you? And for Miss Hawkeye, too? That way she wouldn’t have to hunt for food -”

“That’s enough.” The words were spoken calmly but were by no means warm. The fiery rage in his master’s eyes had been replaced with forbidding glaciers. Wrong tactic.

“You are my student. You have been graciously accepted into my home, into my life, and into my daughter’s life. Have you ever gone to sleep hungry, young Mister Mustang? Have you wanted for anything that I did not provide for you during your time here?”

Roy swallowed thickly, and his poorly-masked ambition slid slowly down his throat. It settled in the pit of his stomach, now fully morphed into regret. This was it. One conversation. One damn conversation and his apprenticeship was gone. Out the window, flying west, back towards Central. He must have stayed silent for a beat too long because the next words out of Hawkeye’s mouth felt like a nail in a coffin.

“Get out of my office.”

“Sir,” Roy attempted to protest, but it came out weak. His throat was tight, and the threat of tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“GO!” Hawkeye commanded.

Roy promptly spun on his heel and flung open the pocket door to the study. Pushing past a startled Miss Hawkeye on the stairs, the apprentice -  _ or was he? _ \- retreated to his room. He closed the door behind him and slid down the door frame, drawing his knees to his chest. Quivering breaths racked Roy’s chest as his head rested on crossed arms.   


_ Great job, Mustang, you really fucked this one up, didn’t you?  _ he thought bitterly.   


He was furious with himself, enraged at Master Hawkeye, and pissed off at Barnes. Why bring this up every year if this was the reaction? Was the soldier usually on the receiving end of this outburst? Or was Roy just unlucky enough to have been the person to answer the door?

Raising up, eyes still closed, Roy rested the crown of his head against the door and slowly opened his eyes to look toward the ceiling. Drawing a few shuddering breaths, he calmed himself and started to think of a plan.

 

* * *

The sun was high in the sky before Roy moved from his spot against the door. He began gathering his things with a solemn finality. There was no way that Master Hawkeye would let him continue his training. He questioned his master. Such disrespect would not be tolerated. His teacher was many things; forgiving was not one of them. It didn’t matter that Roy was not the true instigator of the conversation - the soldier had no bearing on Berthold Hawkeye, and Mustang knew it. If the guillotine was coming down on someone, it was going to be the apprentice.

He had one chance, one last-ditch effort to convince Master Hawkeye to let him stay and finish learning all that he could about alchemy. On the off chance that didn’t work, however, he didn’t want to waste time attempting to gather his things.

Roy’s beaten suitcase was loaded with clothes, and the smart leather satchel that Madam Christmas sent him for the winter holiday of her namesake last year was stuffed with notes and Roy’s books. He was prepared to make a clean break if need be.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Roy opened the door and silently made his way down the stairs.   


As he approached the study, he heard hushed voices speaking frantically. The young alchemist paused and shrank back against the wall, not unlike his eavesdropping sisters. Curiously, he inched his ear to the edge of the doorframe and listened intently. It was the most words he had ever heard pass between father and daughter in a single conversation.

“He blatantly disrespected me, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Father. How about you tell him about your research?” Roy heard Miss Hawkeye incredulously answer; he was shocked that she seemed to be advocating for him.

“That isn’t possible, and you know it. You’ve  _ seen _ how dangerous that research is, Riza! Out of everyone, you should be the one most vehemently against me telling that boy anything!” Hawkeye hissed.

“He  _ deserves  _ to know,” she responded, voice deadly.

“I wasn’t aware you were so fond of the boy,” Master Hawkeye said, an almost sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“I - I am not!” Miss Hawkeye defended. “He’s just here to study alchemy -  _ all kinds of alchemy _ . That should include the specialty of his own master.”

“But it’s -”   


“Say dangerous one more time,” the girl said so quietly that Roy had to strain to hear. “All alchemy is dangerous. Flame alchemy is no exception. It all lies in what the person practicing it decides to do with it. It all lies with you deciding to  _ trust him _ . Mama trusted you. And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving?”

Roy chose this moment to make himself known. Slowly crossing the threshold, he saw his master and Miss Hawkeye standing in the middle of the room, staring each other down, their postures stiff and unyielding. Hawkeye’s imposing stature was back in full force, making the slight frame of his daughter seem even smaller than what she was. The boy countered the tense situation with a very small smirk that ventured nowhere near his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Roy said smoothly - coolly. He drew himself up to match his superior’s rigid posture from across the room.

“Riza, leave us,” Berthold directed her with a point.

The look on Riza’s face betrayed her sharp nod and acquiescence to the directive. Roy’s eyes wanted to follow the movement as she walked out the door, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. As soon as he heard the tell-tale snick of wood against wood, indicating that the pocket door was closed, Roy launched into the speech he had been ruminating on for the past hour.

“Sir, I understand that I was in the wrong in questioning your motives. I sincerely apologize. But, it doesn’t matter how curious I am about your research. My curiosity isn’t important. And it also wasn’t my place to question your decisions. What is important, however, is that I feel I haven’t learned everything I came to learn. And what  _ is _ your decision is whether or not I am allowed to stay and further my training.

“A year’s worth of tutoring in alchemy just barely got me to drawing transmutation circles. I sat down and I read the books. I learned the theory; I learned the compositions. I memorized, recited, questioned, and answered. I could go somewhere else and learn more with the foundation you’ve given me. I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to continue with the master that I started with. I want to stay here. But if you are asking me to leave, I will do so without turning back.”

Roy paused, just short of panting, feeling breathless. His mind flashed to his packed belongings on the bed in his room -  _ the _ room - upstairs.

“Are you quite finished?” Hawkeye said quietly.

The boy felt heat start to redden his cheeks and did his best to halt the color in its tracks. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the master continued, “because I have no intention of forcing you out. You are free to go at any time - you’ve known this from the beginning. But I don’t believe that I’ve bled you dry of your potential yet.

“You’re smart. Sometimes too smart for your own good. I’ve already given you all the tools to piece together the basics of flame alchemy. Handing my research over to you would be... unsafe.” Hawkeye paused. “In ways you cannot yet comprehend,” he ended, bitterly.

Roy felt properly chastised. In the few hours of contemplation before this confrontation, the boy really perceived this to be a “don’t shoot the messenger” situation. He was only doing what was asked of him!

In retrospect, though, Roy realized that he did come off a touch ungrateful for the provisions of the Hawkeye family. And, just maybe, he questioned the methods of the master a bit too deeply. He was, after all and throughout everything, a guest.

But more than anything, the young alchemist sensed a foreign emotion emanating from his master, something completely different from the intellectual confidence he usually excluded: fear.   


On a basic level, Roy understood. Like Miss Hawkeye said, all alchemy could be dangerous depending on the wielder. But flame could spread quickly, out of control before it ever had the chance of being tamed. On a more complex level, though… How was one supposed to perfect what one’s own master appeared to fear?   


All in the same breath, Roy felt relieved. He wasn’t out of an apprenticeship. He didn’t have to return to Central. Most importantly, however, he didn’t have to find another alchemy master to teach him. The thought of staying, of continuing with Master Hawkeye, filled Roy to the brim with giddiness.

A genuine, yet cautious, smile broke Roy’s face. He was staying.

His thoughts turned to his packed bags upstairs. Bashfulness, apprehension, and dread flooded Roy’s system. Yet again he had acted hastily and let his emotions take control.

“Thank you, sir. For the second chance.”

Berthold’s face also donned a small smile. “Thank you for being up front with me. It’s been a while since someone was so frank. It’s good to know that I can rely on you to keep me steadfast.”   


As Roy nodded, his master crossed the room to clap a hand onto Roy’s shoulder, reminiscent of the first day that the apprentice had arrived. “No lesson today.”   


Before the student could breathe a sigh of relief, however, Hawkeye proceeded. “Continue drawing those transmutation circles I assigned you yesterday. Read the next chapter of  _ The Analysis of ‘Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures’ _ and be prepared to discuss the importance of mercury and the sun.”

Instead of deflating like he normally would, Roy nodded and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Dismissed.”

Roy spun on his heel and, gently this time, slid the pocket door open and made his way up to his room. All things considered, he believed he got off easy. But that didn’t alleviate the slightly uncomfortable, sheepishness he felt as he climbed the steps to his room ( _ his _ room). The book that Master Hawkeye wanted him to read from was packed and ready to go - like the rest of his things.

Knowing that he was able to stay, though? That gave Roy all the confidence he needed to unpack and return to life as it was, so to speak.

With a spring in his step, the young man opened the door to his room, and went to grab the suitcase and the satchel off the bed to unpack… only to discover that neither were there. Curiously, he opened the top drawer of the dresser and found his clothes within. He quickly flung open another drawer, then another. Someone had unpacked his suitcase.

Traveling over to the small desk the apprentice had installed in his room approximately three months after moving in, he realized that his satchel, too, had been unpacked. The contents of it adorned the desk - notes in a neat, organized pile, books stacked smartly according to size. Just as his mind started to process what he was seeing, Roy heard a noise behind him. Whipping around, he saw Miss Hawkeye leaning casually against the doorframe to his bedroom.

Quickly, he said, “Thank you for unpacking my things. But you didn’t have to do that. It would have been terrible to pack them up again if your father had kicked me to the curb.”

Miss Hawkeye scoffed, “Like he would have done that to his favorite apprentice.” With a roll of her eyes, she pushed herself off of the trim work and into the room proper. “I don’t know why you pulled a stunt like that anyway,” she said, a disapproving tone in her voice.

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like that? It’s not something I was expecting at all!” Roy responded defensively.

“I’m sure the soldier told you that they ask him every year. What did you think, he turned them all away politely after inviting them in for tea?” she intoned.

“Well, no, but -” Roy started. Miss Hawkeye cut him off.

“No buts.  _ You _ still have too much to learn.  _ He _ still has too much to teach you. Neither of you are allowed to throw in the towel just yet.”

The wheels in Roy’s head started turning, the cogs fitting together. Between this statement and the bits of the conversation he had eavesdropped on before, he realized his hunch might be correct.   


“Why, Miss Hawkeye, do I dare say that you are in favor of keeping me here? Might you actually  _ like _ me?” His disarming smile was turned up to eleven, charm oozing from every pore. To his utter delight, the cheekbones of the young woman in front of him turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Absolutely  _ not _ ,” she vehemently denied. “You’re just the most promising alchemy apprentice to cross the threshold of this house. I would hate for Father to have to start all over again with someone half as talented as you.”

“So now I’m  _ talented _ ?” Roy teased as the flush on the girl’s face grew darker.

Through gritted teeth, Miss Hawkeye growled, “Good night,” and spun on her heel, shoulders hunched up to her ears and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Right before she closed the door with a bit more force than Roy thought was necessary, he could have sworn he heard her mutter “conceited boy” to herself.

Chuckling, the apprentice shook his head. But then thought seriously about the character witness that he apparently had in Miss Hawkeye. She noticed how hard he was working, how much he was trying...and how smart he was. She noticed that he was giving his all to this alchemy training. And she thought it was unfair that her father was not reciprocating the same level of trust and knowledge in this apprenticeship.

Just as he thought he had her at least somewhat figured out, Miss Hawkeye went and scattered every piece of paper in his mental file about her, the one still titled “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter.”

In that moment, Roy realized that the girl wasn’t protecting him, not really. It was most likely - almost guaranteed, in fact - that she was looking out for her father, and her father alone. Though it appeared that Miss Hawkeye was siding with the apprentice instead of his master, Roy thought back to the last thing she’d seethingly said to her father.

_ And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving before he’s learned? _

Miss Hawkeye was, in a way, taking steps to ensure that her father would continue thriving. By cutting out a place in the shape of Roy’s silhouette, she was attempting to entice him to finish training one -  _ one _ \- apprentice completely. In doing so, this could give Master Hawkeye a sense of fulfillment that could, once again, turn him into a proper alchemist, instead of a recluse locked away in a mansion-sized house.

Sinking into the chair at the desk, Roy sighed. Even though the sun still hung high in the sky, Roy felt spent and more than ready to retire. Nevertheless, he opened his textbook, taking out paper and a pen to jot down notes. From that moment on, Roy resolved to raise his personal bar and study longer hours, reviewing even more than what he was currently.

In that moment, Roy made a vow to himself. He would gain Master Hawkeye’s trust. He might unlock the secrets to flame alchemy along the way. Most importantly, though, he would give his master a reason to possibly prosper once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. All kudos, bookmarks, and comments are extremely appreciated. You can follow me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vino-and-doggos), or if you've jumped ship, you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I promise it gets better. But, in the meantime, feel free to harass me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vino-and-doggos), or if you've jumped ship, give me a follow on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vino_and_doggos).
> 
> I sincerely wish you and yours the happiest new year. May the best of 2018 be the worst of 2019!!


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